


I Have Loved You in the Dark for So Long

by mostlikelydefinentlymad



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, Love Confessions, M/M, No Mary Morstan, Post-Episode: s03e03 His Last Vow, Power Outage, no Parent!Lock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-19
Updated: 2015-07-19
Packaged: 2018-04-10 01:53:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4372598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mostlikelydefinentlymad/pseuds/mostlikelydefinentlymad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>& I'm tired of hiding it...</p><p> </p><p>[There's a power outage at 221B]</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Have Loved You in the Dark for So Long

_"_ What exactly are we supposed to do now?" John was less than thrilled.

Three hours ago the power had gone out without warning. Of course it would have to happen after he'd just loaded the fridge with much needed groceries, not to mention the many appendages in baggies that Sherlock had acquired from Molly.

"Problem?"  questioned Sherlock. He was perfectly fine lying on the couch reading, of all things, Pride & Prejudice. He had two tall thick candles on the coffee table at his side, candles that John had purchased on a whim when he'd first moved in. With his blue dressing gown wrapped about him like a cape and curls ary he looked positively handsome by the candle light. Not that John would ever tell him that.

"We have no electricity, Sherlock. There's a human head right below the yogurt and milk that I bought yesterday. It's going to stink," he stated.

"Mmm yes, that," Sherlock muttered as he flipped another page. It was hardly his fault that the power had went out.

John sighed and ceased his pacing, choosing to flop down in his chair instead.

  
_"_ Hoo-hoo! Boys, do you need some more candles?" Mrs Hudson let herself into the room, already carrying no less than five candles and a box of matches.

"Thank you Mrs. Hudson," John said with a smile.

"I brought you some nibbles too, you know, in case you don't want to open the fridge. I've got a bottle of wine, biscuits and raspberry tarts. I know they're your favorite, Sherlock. You really should eat," she rushed about in the semi darkness, moving aside fragile beakers and what appeared to be a mold sample as she lit candles and placed them here and there as well as the food.

"You should be all set now. You know where to find me if you need anything dear," she said as she made her way out the door, her voice already drifting off.

  
_"_ So I should...? I guess I'll get the glasses then," John might as well be talking to himself as Sherlock was still lying on the couch in the same position he'd been in for hours. Save for the blinking and slow turning of the pages, John would've thought he was dead.

Taking a candle to the kitchen, he found two (clean, blessidly) glasses and filled them with wine. Pink Moscato of all things, quite sweet. It's better than nothing, he thought to himself as he took a large swig.

Sherlock didn't move when he sat the glass beside of him so he gently nudged his shoulder.

 _"_ Sherlock, here I brought you a drink."

"Yes thank you," he mumbled as he flipped another page and took his own glass from the table. _""_

"Has the informidable Mr. Darcy confessed his love to Elizabeth Bennett yet?"  he asked as he made a fire in the fireplace.

It was mid November, after all and the flat hardly had any insulation.

"Dull,"  came the reply.

"I'm sorry, what?"  having made a warm fire, John sat back down in his chair and poured himself another glass of wine.

 _"_ Love. It's hardly realistic, John. Mr. Darcy is clearly not interested as he has stated that he doesn't find her physically attractive and keeps himself at arms length. Sentiment isn't important to him," he rambled on as he dog eared the page, having decided to finally make conversation.

 

John refilled Sherlock's glass and looked at him quizzically. The man was an utter genius but couldn't understand that he had more in common with the main character than he'd thought.

 _"_ Love isn't just about physical attraction," John chided and furrowed his brow as he stared at the fire.

Sherlock made his way to his own chair and wrapped his dressing gown around himself once more as he curled his feet up. Even the way he sits is unconventional, John thought to himself. The man was a paradox.

 _"_ Indeed John," he'd surprised John by agreeing with him.

Prior to the disastrous fallout that had been John's life after marrying what turned out to be a dangerous criminal and then finding that the baby she carried wasn't his, he'd moved back to Baker Street. It had been a year, one year and three months to be exact, and Sherlock had changed. Not in large ways but in the manner of which he spoke of softer things; of love and he'd taken on a couple cases about unhappily married couples and cheating spouses in the past few months.

There were still heads, fingers and toes in the fridge of course but he did his absolute best to keep at least one corner of the kitchen table clean.

"Love, sentiment and attraction are all in the same category, John. If one person were to love another they would feel a chemical reaction in the brain frequently followed by accelerated heart rate, increased nervousness and an innate craving to please the other person, _"_    he stated as if he were merely reading headlines in the morning paper.

"More wine?"   John wasn't quite sure to respond to that one.

  
He'd felt every single emotion and twinge of sentiment since meeting Sherlock. It almost seemed like the rest of the world faded away if even for a brief moment when he'd started intensely into John's eyes. It was unnerving but he made no move to step back as he handed his phone over. The rest, as they say, is history.

Sherlock silently held his glass out to be refilled. Between them they'd finished off the entire bottle.

"Do you think Mrs. Hudson has more?"  asked John.

  
He was feeling slightly buzzed though he wasn't a lightweight. He'd shared many a beer with Mike Stamford on nights where Sherlock seemed to disappear into his own mind, speaking to John every so often as if they were in the middle of a conversation.

 _"_ Mmm not sure," Sherlock slurred.

 _He_ , however, was quite the light weight.

"I'll go check,"  John took a candle and carefully made his way downstairs as he heard the sound of a violin softly playing in the room above. He smiled to himself.

 

"Mrs. Hudson? " he knocked gently at the door, hoping she hadn't fallen asleep. He'd hate to wake her.

"John is that you dear?"  She opened the door with a smile. She still wore her apron from earlier. She'd been baking when the power went out but thankfully her mince pies had finished.

"It's me," he confirmed as she ushered him inside.

 _"_ What did you need dear? More candles? I've got some mincemeat pies over here if you boys are hungry," she rattled on as she started picking up pastries.

 "No, no, no. We're fine food wise, thanks. I was wondering if maybe you had another bottle of wine?" _  
_

 "I'll go get it," she turned with a grin and made her way into the other room.

 John wasn't quite sure why she kept her wine in the bedroom but who was he to question it. He didn't want to think about what else she had tucked in there. 

  
She returned with a bottle of the same wine. 

 _"_ Here you go dear, let me know if you need anything else." She said with a wink. Or perhaps not. Maybe it was the alcohol and he was simply imagining things. None the less, he gave her a small smile back and made his way upstairs.

 

Sherlock had put away his violin and sat in his chair by the fire, long legs stretched out on the rug, hands steepled in thought.

"Got some more wine _,"_ John was hoping he didn't come off as too eager but he was finding that maybe the electric being out wasn't so bad after all. They'd have time to talk without cases interrupting or emails piling up. He didn't care what topic it was aside from the solar system of course.

 _"_ John?"  he stared back at John, confused. _"_ I was just talking to you, when did you leave? _"_

 _"_ Didn't even notice I was gone then,"  John mumbled and poured himself another glass of wine. He should've expected as much.  
Sherlock merely frowned and topped off his glass.

 

Four hours passed in relative silence as John found a book to read. It wasn't terribly interesting, something about serial killers from the years 1985-1995 and described their crimes in vivid detail. Blood and gore had never bothered him but tonight he'd rather relax and let London take care of itself.

He sat the book down and stretched in his chair, nearly knocking a candle over.

As it turns out there really isn't much to cover when you live with the other person. They'd lasted an astonishing ten minutes before Sherlock stopped talking altogether. 

He had taken to lazily stretching across his chair, throwing his legs over the side as he stared intensely at John. His eyes were glassy and dark in the candle light. 

 _Two bottles of wine then_ ,  John concluded to himself. Sherlock really was a light weight.

 _"_ I'm...I'm a consulting... _thing_ ," Sherlock slurred as he twirled his hand around.

"Only one..." *hiccup* _"_ in the world, didchu know that?"   He attempted to appear serious but his slurred speech and slouched position gave him away.

"Mmm yes you are,"  John sat his book down. His head was swimming and the effects of the wine were making him dizzy.

 _"_ I'm jus...just going to stay right here," he said as he laid on his back on the couch, turning to press his face into the pillow. It smelled like Sherlock's shampoo. He couldn't help himself, he inhaled deeply.

  
To his surprise Sherlock stumbled over and moved his legs aside as he took the seat next to him. John promptly began to remove his feet which were now resting on Sherlock's thighs. Continuing with the odd behavior, Sherlock moved to stop him; still quite strong even when three sheets to the wind.  John raised an eyebrow but put his feet back none the less. 

 _"_ Didchu...know that the leading cause of death is...is...more wine," he didn't even bother with finishing his sentence as they polished off the last of Mrs. Hudson's wine.

 _"_ Ash, I know assshhh,"  Sherlock drew the word out as he leaned his head against the wall.

Choosing to ignore the topic as it nearly always ended in bickering, John tilted his head to look at Sherlock.

 _"_ Loveishhh, I know 'bout love," John mumbled and giggled to himself. Everything seemed funny tonight despite the fact that the flat would smell quite rank in a few hours and they'd no idea when the power would be back on.

 _"_ Loveeeee," Sherlock casually flipped his hand about, _"_ iswhat...what I like _,_ " he said with a giggle.

"You? SherlockHolmes...love? _"_ John smirked.

"Why not?, _"_ Sherlock started, affronted.

"Sentiment you don't do it." This was not a topic they discussed a lot, if at all but tonight felt promising.

 _"_ I...I've loved _,"_ Sherlock sat up and regarded John.

His curls fell messily against his forehead and his eyes were glassy, cheeks slightly pink. Beautiful, John thought to himself.

  
_"_ Who've you...loved?"  John propped his head up on the pillow further and forced himself to turn away.

 Looking at Sherlock Holmes was like staring into the dark depths of the ocean, never quite knowing how to tread the water but at times sunlight would reflect upon the depths and they'd recede to show gentle waves lapping at the shore.

More and more these days, John had saw the softening of Sherlock's eyes when they spoke to one another whether it be about John picking the tea that Sherlock liked so much or discussing a grizzly case.

"You ofcourse!" Sherlock exclaimed and smiled wide, clearly not grasping the weight of what he'd just admitted to.

"Me? No I meant...I meant _romantically,_ "  John stammered. A part of him hoped that Sherlock meant it that way as well.

"John Hamish...Hamish...Watson," Sherlock let the name roll off of his tongue.

 His brain felt fuzzy but he knew exactly what he was admitting to.

Worse case scenario John would forget all about it tomorrow and they'd go on like they always had even if he craved more. Had always wanted more. 

 _It's selfish_ , he told himself.

 _John has been through enough and I'm mostly to blame, he deserves better_.

True. But tonight was different. Tonight he'd let the chips fall where they may and deal with them at a later date if need be.

 _"_ I don't..I don't understand."  John must've had more to drink than he'd thought. Surely he'd passed out on the couch and dreamed this moment up.

"You, its..." *hiccup* _"_ always been you, John. John Watson,"  Sherlock repeated the words he'd only felt safe saying aloud at John's wedding.

 _"_ Right. Right, well."   John coughed and sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees which proved more difficult than he'd thought.

"John?"   Sherlock sat up beside of him and stared at the floor.

He seemed much smaller somehow, his bare toes curled against the rug (next to the dressing gown he'd tossed on the floor hours ago with the complaint that it was suddenly too heavy, too itchy.) 

 _"_ You mean to..tosay....you love me? Like...like a best friend or...? _"_   John couldn't believe they were actually having this conversation and for a moment he felt like they shouldn't or at least not when they were both tipsy.

"Always, always have. John,"  Sherlock answered and dearly wished he had something in his hands to twist, turn, manipulate. 

 _"_ Even when I...when Mary... _"_ John trailed off wishing he'd never said her name. It tasted bitter on his tongue.

 _"_ Yes,"  Sherlock said quietly, nearly to himself as he braved a glance at John. 

Stunning. 

John's eyes were glassy like his own, his hair sticking up in too many directions, shirt slightly unbuttoned at the top to expose his neck, still wearing his jeans. The look he was giving Sherlock was nothing short of heated, much like a predator staking his claim.

 

"John?"   Sherlock found the words stuck in his throat.

John simply leaned forward, his leg resting against Sherlocks as his eyes fluttered closed.

He wrapped a warm hand around the back of Sherlock's head and pulled him in closer. _Closer._ Sherlock's eyes closed as he breathed John in and angled his face opposite of John's.

"John..I...I'm not, I'm not good at -"  he was interrupted by a finger to his lips.

"Sherlock. Shut up,"  John whispered as he gently pressed his lips against Sherlocks.

 

+  
_Fireworks in the Winter, bluebells in bloom, bubbling waterfalls, warm honey in the Summer, a small ember of fire growing brighter,_ he couldn't get enough.

Everything Sherlock had ever wanted was right in front of him and actually wanted him back.

He sighed into the kiss as he parted his lips and John's teeth gently nipped at his bottom lip, followed by his tongue as he traced a trail across them. John made a mental note to do that more often as Sherlock shuddered and moaned.

For years Sherlock had denied himself the taste of another person, of love. He was a coward, he realized this but some things were worth fighting for.

He slid his tongue against John's in an act that promised more than heated kisses.  
John deepened the kiss and pulled Sherlock down on the couch, clumsily pressing him against his chest as he pulled his t-shirt over his head.

"John."

He spoke his name as if it were an oath, a promise, a vow. As if he were a dying man and all he'd ever wanted his entire life was this moment.

 

John dragged his fingertips along pale skin; spine, shoulders, nape of the neck, clavicle bone.

He licked a path up Sherlock's neck and sucked at the side.

For years he'd longed to put his mouth on it, taste the salt, to devour Sherlock whole until he ached for more.

 

Sherlock groaned deep in his chest and it vibrated against Johns as he arched his back.

_Closer._

"I don't...I don't want...regret...morning, JOHN,"  Sherlock breathed as he felt John's entire body pressing against his own. He was pleased to find that wasn't alone in his desire to strip every scrap of clothing off and have their way with one another.

 _And that just_.

John ground his hips against Sherlock's and he couldn't breathe, couldn't think.

"Do you know...how long..."  John left tiny kisses on Sherlock's jaw as he spoke. "How long I've wanted you? You with...with your cheekbones and your sheet," he continued.

Sherlock moaned in response. He felt like his heart was going to explode.

He moved away long enough to hastily unbutton John's shirt and toss it on top of his discarded dressing gown.

 

The fire burned warmly in the hearth and the candles softly flickered in the dark. It was the most romantic thing John had ever experienced.

 _"_ I want you _,"_ he growled into Sherlock's ear as he dug his blunt fingernails into delicate skin.

 _"_ Bedroom,"  Sherlock breathed as he took John's hand and led them to his room.

  
"Wait,"  John said and for a moment, Sherlock's heart nearly stopped beating. _Had he made a mistake?_   He couldn't take losing John again.

 John left the bedroom and felt along the wall until he got to the main room. He returned with two candles and the small table, sat them beside of the bed.

Sherlock crossed the room and wrapped his arms around John's waist.

 _"_ I thought you had second thoughts,"  he said as he rested his forehead against Johns. His skin felt like it was on fire, he _wanted_.

John laughed and shook his head - _no_. He'd waited too many years for this.

"Never."

Sherlock took his hand and led him to the bed, quickly removing one anothers clothing as they went. Desperate clinging bodies pressed against one another in the candle light as they took their time to memorize every detail, to taste every inch.

As it turned out, loving Sherlock was exactly what John had imagined it would be. Like the man himself it was a wildfire burning out of control, unpredictable and John was insatiable. He wanted this, all of this, everyday for the rest of his life.

"I love you, you know,"  John whispered many hours later. The electric had came back on but they'd promptly turned the lights off. He traced lazy circles on Sherlock's arm and savored the warm solid feel of him under his fingertips.

 _"_ I love you John Watson. I've meant to say it always but I never have _,_ "  Sherlock murmured as he pressed a kiss to the palm of John's hand.

 

John brushed his fingers through unruly curls and laid his head against Sherlock's chest.

He remembered when that heart had stopped beating, how it felt like his entire world came crumbling down around him. But this time, _this time_ he could hear the steady beat against his ear.

 _Mine_.  

He'd make sure it stayed beating even if it meant putting his own life on the line. It wouldn't be the first time.

Nothing else mattered, never had.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this when my internet was out, it actually served as an inspiration :P thank you for reading, let me know if you liked it? 
> 
> ETA: I removed the italics and added quotation marks to make it easier to read, sorry about that.


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